Packing for a vacation is so time consuming. It's so bothersome to meticulously fold all my clothes and stuff them into a tiny suitcase that always weighs a ton, and then have to trek half way across the world with it. Meddlesome parents, always trying to ruin things for their teenage children. They probably don't like my attitude so they believe that going on a vacation will solve all their issues. What better way to give your teenage daughter a complete behavior makeover, than to send her to Italy and say the reason is because she needs a break from school. Oh, jeez my paints and brushes don't fit in this stupid suitcase.
My parents must have been pining for a baby boy when I was born, for they definitely named me after one. I mean be reasonable, who names a baby girl Riley? Now I have to constantly deal with the confusion of my boy name. Ever since I was little, on the first day of school, the teachers would always want to do role call. That meant that I would have to stand up and introduce myself to the class. When calling Riley, the teachers would always search for a boy's face in the sea of faces. When I stood up and they realized that I was in fact female, the look on their face is what I'd imagine the look would be on a person who's just splattered their whole drawing with black paint. Also, its not like I'll ever be able to have a good nickname. The only nickname you could derive from the name Riley would be rye, and who wants to have a nickname that is a type of bread?
Now that I'm in high school, I make a point of expressing myself. That's what I told my parents anyway when I decided to dye my hair blue. They didn't take it very well. But what do I care, its not like they genuinely care about what I do, they only care about the bad impressions I make on their rich co-workers and friends. They always say that it's so embarrassing to be seen with me in public with my bright blue hair. But I must say that I would rather be seen with my school's social outcast, than to hang out with such phonies and posers as my parents.
My parents are such the fakers. They always try to act the part of being sophisticated wealthy people. Always remodeling the house and kitchen; buying the most recent plasma flat screen television or the priciest cell phones and laptops that are so thin that I'm surprised they don't break from the slightest touch of a finger. I bet Monet wasn't a pretender. He didn't only paint what others wanted to see, I mean, he is the one that started the movement for impressionism. But what do I know? I'm just a crazy, rebellious, art-freak who is just so naïve and knows nothing about the world.
My friends and I decided to dye our hair a couple months ago during spring break. We were going to color our hair exotic tones and see whose parents would react the most explosively. The plan was to give up our natural hair color for whatever our favorite color was. Too bad mine was blue. Everyone knows that my favorite color is blue, obviously, since all my artwork is usually blue, even my laptop desktop blue. Of course my friends' favorite colors changed temporarily to black, blonde, brunette, and a reddish brown color. I was the only one that stuck to such an extravagant hue. I love my blue streaked hair though. During Algebra class, I always enjoy twirling a blue strand around my finger and irritating the teacher who was trying to instruct us about another useless algorithm. It's amazing how much of a fuss people make when someone has blue hair.
During spring break, my parents took my bratty little sister and myself to Disneyland. Never go to an airport if you have brightly colored hair. I mean seriously, the security kept checking my carry-on bags and waving that metal detector thing everywhere, as if I planned on bringing explosives on to the plane or something. Yes, I'm an emotionally unbalanced, raging teenager who just happens to be a suicidal terrorist all because I have blue streaked hair. Don't even get me started about when we actually got to the Disneyland theme park. All the little kids pointed and stared at my hair while the parents were secretly whispering to see if I was indeed some new Disney character unknown to them. All the while, my little devil of a sister snickered and talked to her other 8-year-old friends on her new pimped out cell phone.
Other than having blue streaked hair, I really don't have any other outstanding physical appearances. No, piercing for me please, the two holes in my ears are good enough for me. Tattoos are banned from my school. Although, technically they shouldn't be since they force us to take art class to inspire our imagination. What's so wrong about showing it on our skin instead of a piece of paper or canvas? I hate our school's education system. Not like the rules and restrictions ever actually stop anyone from committing the offenses anyway. Only just yesterday, my friend Tiffany showed me the tattoo she got done by her mom's biker ex-boyfriend. It was a pink butterfly that was on her hip. I mean, way to be creative, a butterfly, how original. I guess I can't blame her though, if I ever got one done I'd probably get a blue rose and that's not very original either.
My friend Tiffany can be rather annoying and irritating. It's just her personality to be obnoxiously loud and flirtatious to all of the male population. She's even flirty with the male teachers; some are probably ancient enough to be her father or even grandfather. Yesterday after she showed me her tattoo in the girls' bathroom, I heard her flirting with Mr. Donaldson, the horrifically hideous PE teacher, in the hallway. I'm surprised that Mr. Donaldson's equally hideous wife, who happens to be the cafeteria lady, didn't come striding down the hallway hurling that days lunch of rock solid meatballs at her. I should tell her that if she ever does end up in the hospital, unconscious or with a concussion from Mrs. Meatball Lady; it's her fault for flirting with so many guys in the first place, especially teachers. I wonder if she only does it to get the teachers to boost her grades up, for she definitely needs it.
I would never do anything such as flirting with a teacher, just to boost my grades. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent Homo sapien. In intermediate school I was able to maintain a grade point average of 4.0 throughout all four semesters. Now that I attend high school, it’s a different story. I still achieve reasonably good grades, like As, A-s, and the occasional B+, but its not like I'm a 4.0 student anymore. I really wish I was, but the lesson criteria and curriculum is much more advanced than it was in intermediate. Like I said, I hate the education system. Or maybe its just my teachers' grading I dislike, I'm not sure.
My parents, especially my mother, think that I need a break from school or maybe just this dull place in general. I was rather surprised when she suggested that we go to Italy or some other culturally interesting country during summer break. My mother says that she thinks that I need a break, or in other words an attitude adjustment. In actuality I think she's the one trying to escape from the sad existence of her poor life. Of course when she suggested it, I absolutely refused and bickered about it as any teenager would. I actually really want to go. Last summer I was able to go to France and that was the best vacation I've ever been on in my extraneous existence of 15 years. I was able to go to the Louver and see the Mona Lisa in all of her white toothed smiling glory. Da Vinci is one of my most favorite Renaissance artists, with the whole mathematical 3-D stuff he added to his art, although I must say that Picasso and Michelangelo were outstandingly brilliant as well. I wonder if Michelangelo ever considered giving one of his sculptures blue hair.
So here I am packing my suitcase for going on a vacation to Italy. Adding all my junk to the trunk to lug around with me on our awesome adventure to Italy. I'm actually really excited to go, not that I'd ever let my parents know that. I'm thrilled to be able to see the beautiful cities of Rome and Venice, to look at the coliseum, statues, and to see the historical art in all its beauty. And with that, I aggressively lock my suitcase and dramatically ascend the staircase, sulkily throwing the suitcase ahead of me. By the way, my suitcase is blue.
Packing for a vacation is so time consuming. It's so bothersome to meticulously fold all my clothes and stuff them into a tiny suitcase that always weighs a ton, and then have to trek half way across the world with it. Meddlesome parents, always trying to ruin things for their teenage children. They probably don't like my attitude so they believe that going on a vacation will solve all their issues. What better way to give your teenage daughter a complete behavior makeover, than to send her to Italy and say the reason is because she needs a break from school. Oh, jeez my paints and brushes don't fit in this stupid suitcase.
My parents must have been pining for a baby boy when I was born, for they definitely named me after one. I mean be reasonable, who names a baby girl Riley? Now I have to constantly deal with the confusion of my boy name. Ever since I was little, on the first day of school, the teachers would always want to do role call. That meant that I would have to stand up and introduce myself to the class. When calling Riley, the teachers would always search for a boy's face in the sea of faces. When I stood up and they realized that I was in fact female, the look on their face is what I'd imagine the look would be on a person who's just splattered their whole drawing with black paint. Also, its not like I'll ever be able to have a good nickname. The only nickname you could derive from the name Riley would be rye, and who wants to have a nickname that is a type of bread?
Now that I'm in high school, I make a point of expressing myself. That's what I told my parents anyway when I decided to dye my hair blue. They didn't take it very well. But what do I care, its not like they genuinely care about what I do, they only care about the bad impressions I make on their rich co-workers and friends. They always say that it's so embarrassing to be seen with me in public with my bright blue hair. But I must say that I would rather be seen with my school's social outcast, than to hang out with such phonies and posers as my parents.
My parents are such the fakers. They always try to act the part of being sophisticated wealthy people. Always remodeling the house and kitchen; buying the most recent plasma flat screen television or the priciest cell phones and laptops that are so thin that I'm surprised they don't break from the slightest touch of a finger. I bet Monet wasn't a pretender. He didn't only paint what others wanted to see, I mean, he is the one that started the movement for impressionism. But what do I know? I'm just a crazy, rebellious, art-freak who is just so naïve and knows nothing about the world.
My friends and I decided to dye our hair a couple months ago during spring break. We were going to color our hair exotic tones and see whose parents would react the most explosively. The plan was to give up our natural hair color for whatever our favorite color was. Too bad mine was blue. Everyone knows that my favorite color is blue, obviously, since all my artwork is usually blue, even my laptop desktop blue. Of course my friends' favorite colors changed temporarily to black, blonde, brunette, and a reddish brown color. I was the only one that stuck to such an extravagant hue. I love my blue streaked hair though. During Algebra class, I always enjoy twirling a blue strand around my finger and irritating the teacher who was trying to instruct us about another useless algorithm. It's amazing how much of a fuss people make when someone has blue hair.
During spring break, my parents took my bratty little sister and myself to Disneyland. Never go to an airport if you have brightly colored hair. I mean seriously, the security kept checking my carry-on bags and waving that metal detector thing everywhere, as if I planned on bringing explosives on to the plane or something. Yes, I'm an emotionally unbalanced, raging teenager who just happens to be a suicidal terrorist all because I have blue streaked hair. Don't even get me started about when we actually got to the Disneyland theme park. All the little kids pointed and stared at my hair while the parents were secretly whispering to see if I was indeed some new Disney character unknown to them. All the while, my little devil of a sister snickered and talked to her other 8-year-old friends on her new pimped out cell phone.
Other than having blue streaked hair, I really don't have any other outstanding physical appearances. No, piercing for me please, the two holes in my ears are good enough for me. Tattoos are banned from my school. Although, technically they shouldn't be since they force us to take art class to inspire our imagination. What's so wrong about showing it on our skin instead of a piece of paper or canvas? I hate our school's education system. Not like the rules and restrictions ever actually stop anyone from committing the offenses anyway. Only just yesterday, my friend Tiffany showed me the tattoo she got done by her mom's biker ex-boyfriend. It was a pink butterfly that was on her hip. I mean, way to be creative, a butterfly, how original. I guess I can't blame her though, if I ever got one done I'd probably get a blue rose and that's not very original either.
My friend Tiffany can be rather annoying and irritating. It's just her personality to be obnoxiously loud and flirtatious to all of the male population. She's even flirty with the male teachers; some are probably ancient enough to be her father or even grandfather. Yesterday after she showed me her tattoo in the girls' bathroom, I heard her flirting with Mr. Donaldson, the horrifically hideous PE teacher, in the hallway. I'm surprised that Mr. Donaldson's equally hideous wife, who happens to be the cafeteria lady, didn't come striding down the hallway hurling that days lunch of rock solid meatballs at her. I should tell her that if she ever does end up in the hospital, unconscious or with a concussion from Mrs. Meatball Lady; it's her fault for flirting with so many guys in the first place, especially teachers. I wonder if she only does it to get the teachers to boost her grades up, for she definitely needs it.
I would never do anything such as flirting with a teacher, just to boost my grades. I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent Homo sapien. In intermediate school I was able to maintain a grade point average of 4.0 throughout all four semesters. Now that I attend high school, it’s a different story. I still achieve reasonably good grades, like As, A-s, and the occasional B+, but its not like I'm a 4.0 student anymore. I really wish I was, but the lesson criteria and curriculum is much more advanced than it was in intermediate. Like I said, I hate the education system. Or maybe its just my teachers' grading I dislike, I'm not sure.
My parents, especially my mother, think that I need a break from school or maybe just this dull place in general. I was rather surprised when she suggested that we go to Italy or some other culturally interesting country during summer break. My mother says that she thinks that I need a break, or in other words an attitude adjustment. In actuality I think she's the one trying to escape from the sad existence of her poor life. Of course when she suggested it, I absolutely refused and bickered about it as any teenager would. I actually really want to go. Last summer I was able to go to France and that was the best vacation I've ever been on in my extraneous existence of 15 years. I was able to go to the Louver and see the Mona Lisa in all of her white toothed smiling glory. Da Vinci is one of my most favorite Renaissance artists, with the whole mathematical 3-D stuff he added to his art, although I must say that Picasso and Michelangelo were outstandingly brilliant as well. I wonder if Michelangelo ever considered giving one of his sculptures blue hair.
So here I am packing my suitcase for going on a vacation to Italy. Adding all my junk to the trunk to lug around with me on our awesome adventure to Italy. I'm actually really excited to go, not that I'd ever let my parents know that. I'm thrilled to be able to see the beautiful cities of Rome and Venice, to look at the coliseum, statues, and to see the historical art in all its beauty. And with that, I aggressively lock my suitcase and dramatically ascend the staircase, sulkily throwing the suitcase ahead of me. By the way, my suitcase is blue.